


Only Ones Who Know

by neversaydie



Series: Somewhat Damaged [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint has a dirty mouth, Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Somewhat Damaged 'verse, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony and Clint are Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's been pussyfooting around him for the past week, and Clint's extremely sick of it.</p><p>"It's like everyone's forgotten that I'm a grown-ass man. I don't need someone to hold my hand. I'm a fucking assassin, for fucks sake, I'm not gonna go to pieces because my boyfriend's away for a little while."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Ones Who Know

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's read this series and left kudos, and especially to the people who've left comments, because I love you all with the burning power of a thousand suns. You're all fantastic, thank you for reading!

"I don't have to take it, Fury's given me the option to say no."

"Phil." Clint gives him the look that says he thinks he's being ridiculous, and Phil sighs. Maybe he is. "You know Fury's 'options' aren't really options. Take the job. It's only for a couple of weeks, and you love Spain."

"I love you more than Spain." He gives him a pointed look and Clint smirks, or maybe it's a grimace.

"I'll be fine. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself."

Phil decides not to point out that he's currently lying on the couch, in his Muppets pyjama pants, filling in a children's puzzle book at three in the afternoon. Everyone needs downtime.

"I know you can, doesn't mean I don't worry about you."

Clint gets up off the couch and walks over to put his arms around Phil's shoulders. Unfinished reports are stacked haphazardly on the table, next to a half-empty cup of cold coffee. Noting the debris, Clint kisses him on the cheek. He must be over-thinking things, to be this disorganised.

"Hey, I've been fine since I got off Celexa, right? There's been, like, nothing too extreme since then. I've been in an upswing once, and it wasn't even that bad."

"You punched Stark."

"To be fair, he was asking for it." Clint rolls his eyes, and Phil swallows a smile. "That wasn't because I'm nuts, anyway, it was because he's nuts. We made up."

"God help the rest of them if I leave you two off the leash."

"I'm sure Tasha's got a collar or two she can lend out." He bites Phil on the ear, playfully. He's happy today, and it makes Phil happy just by association. It's just nice to see Clint smile, after everything.

"Take the job, bring me back a present."

"I'm not sure—"

"Something touristy and cheesy as shit." Clint walks away, speaking loudly over his shoulder and not letting Phil wring his hands over the matter anymore. "Or something super, _super_ gay."

"Or both?" Phil knows that's the next part, it always is when it comes to Clint's souvenir requests.

He gives as good as he gets, in fairness. The piñata filled with miniature bottles of tequila was a nice surprise.

Clint pops his head out of the bedroom door, grinning fit to split his face in two. Phil thinks, okay, maybe he could take the assignment. Things seemed to have levelled out right now. Clint doesn't need a babysitter, he'll be fine.

"See, you get me. I knew I loved you for a reason."

"Yeah, that and my huge cock."

" _Agent Coulson_!" He actually looks scandalised, mouth hanging open and eyes bugged. Phil just chuckles triumphantly and goes back to his paperwork.

Still got it.

*

The apartment feels empty when Phil goes on assignment, but that's all it is, to begin with.

It's not like this is the first time they've been apart. The nature of the job means they spend a lot of time in different cities, if not continents, and it's only since Phil's been assigned to the Avengers full time that they've seen each other almost every day. Once, they spent six months apart and on radio silence when Clint was on a job in Russia. When he'd come back with Natasha in tow, the sudden jealousy that flared in Phil's eyes had informed Clint that six months was too fucking long. But they've done it before. A couple of weeks with email contact allowed is nothing.

That doesn't change the fact that it feels like a leap of faith when Phil kisses him goodbye and tells him to take care. 'Of yourself' is implied, unspoken but sitting there in Phil's eyes waiting for him when he looks. Clint nods, kisses him again and tells him he's going soft in his old age. He'll be fine, for Phil. He has to be, there isn't another option.

This is a bump in the road, he tells himself, and he needs to start getting his real life back on track.

*

"You can stay here while Phil's away, if you want."

Everyone's been pussyfooting around him for the past week, and Clint's extremely sick of it.

The only people who've been treating him like he's not about to have a meltdown if they look at him wrong are Tony and Bruce, and they've been locked in the lab dealing with some biohazard for most of the time. Usually he'd find Tasha to hang out with, since she doesn't give a shit about what's wrong with his brain unless it's actively putting him in danger, but she's somewhere in Canada right now.

He rubs his hands over his hair, tugging at the strands that badly need cutting, and tries not to get angry.

"Tony—"

"I'm not trying to imply anything." The billionaire holds his hands up, remarkably steady despite being on his six or seventh cup of coffee. He must be immune to caffeine at this point. "I'm just saying. I hate it when Pepper's gone, and you're about as whipped as I am. Offer's there."

"I—. Thanks." Clint sits heavily on one of the kitchen chairs and blows out a harsh breath, rubbing at his eyes for a moment. He's not sleeping since Phil left, that's the only thing that's really bothering him.

"Sorry for being touchy, or whatever. I just… I see why you don't fucking tell people now."

"Yeah." Tony winces, sympathetic. He's got a pretty good idea of what Clint's been experiencing for the last week, since word got out about his whole punching-out-windows _thing_. "People being weird since Phil left?"

"No one thinks I can look after myself!"

Clint can't help the explosion, once Tony prods the right spot. He flings his arms wide, gesticulating the way he only does when he's genuinely pissed off, and narrowly avoids smacking his hand on the microwave. It only angers him more that he didn't make contact. At this point, the prospect of giving himself some bruises looks enticing, and he needs to get some of his anger out before that particular train of thought goes any further. Bottling shit up never helps, he knows, but he hasn't had the opportunity to vent lately.

This seems to have been Tony's intention, as he retrieves a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses from the cabinet, pouring drinks smoothly as Clint rants. The archer doesn't care if he's been manipulated into talking, because it feels damn good to open the safety valve. He's been so afraid of people thinking he's unstable that he hasn't even been sniping at the junior agents, and that's just unheard of.

He's tired of being Mr Nice all the time, it's just not how he works.

"It's like everyone's forgotten that I'm a grown-ass man, not a fucking teenage girl. I don't need someone to hold my hand. I'm a fucking assassin, for fucks sake, I'm not gonna go to pieces because my boyfriend's away for a little while." He swallows his drink in one gulp, and Tony raises his eyebrows but pours him another. He's not one to judge.

"Steve gave me a hug today. _A hug_. Do you know how awkward it is to be hugged by Captain America? Very."

"Thor patted me on the back once and sent me flying. Good job I was wearing the suit." Tony informs him, and Clint snorts.

"It's like, I know they mean well, y'know? But god fucking damn." He shakes his head, rolling his glass between his hands and trying not to down this drink in one as well. He's starting to feel jittery, and that's not good. This week has to go without incident, it _has_ to. For him as much as for Phil. He needs to prove he can do this alone, to himself and everyone else.

"If they wanted me to ask for help sometime then they're going the wrong fucking way about it. At this rate I'll never talk to half these people again, let alone about my fucking mental state."

"You come to realise that most people don't know the difference between 'mental illness' and 'weakness.'" Tony muses, drinking far more slowly and serenely than Clint. "Not to sound like the wise old sage of crazy, or anything. The best response is ignoring it. Once they pull their heads of their asses and realise you're just as competent as you ever were, they'll chill out."

"Thanks for the advice, mom." The archer rolls his eyes, but he knows Tony's talking sense. "I just… I miss people treating me like I know what I'm doing. I used to intimidate the junior agents, y'know? They used to want my approval. Now I just scare them. Everyone knows my business and everyone thinks they're entitled to an opinion on it."

Tony hesitates before speaking, taking in the other man's dejected expression and weighing his words. He doesn't like talking about this, for the same reasons Clint's been having such a tough week, but maybe story time wouldn't be such a bad idea. He knows what it's like to go through this crap for the first time, and maybe it'd help.

In the end, he kind of just comes out with it, blunt and graceless as ever.

"Obidiah put me in a psych ward for a month after I got diagnosed."

There's a pause.

"I thought you weren't that bad?" Clint looks surprised, but at least he's listening and not fidgeting around like he wants to take his skin off anymore.

"I wasn't really… Like, I'm completely different to you." Tony goes on, being careful to make eye contact occasionally as he talks. He's got nothing to be ashamed of, he knows, but it's still difficult to talk about this. He hasn't even told Pepper.

"When I get manic, I'm all sex-drugs-rock-n-roll. I sleep around, I buy ridiculous shit, drink too much, but I'm not really overtly self-destructive. I don't care if I get hurt, but I don't intentionally hurt myself. If it wasn't for the depression then I'd probably have been written off as a teenager with too much money acting out, which I kinda was."

Clint nods, encouraging him to go on. Tony wonders briefly if he's ever heard about anyone else's experience with the illness before, since Clint's not exactly likely to Google his condition. Not that they're the same, given that Tony's pretty mild and he's fairly sure Clint's got some psychotic features in his mania, but he figures any common ground might help.

"But yeah, I got diagnosed, and Obie decided it was best to put me away somewhere until I levelled out, so I didn't do anything embarrassing for the company." He doesn't even sound that bitter when he says it, now. It's not as if he's made his peace with what happened, but Obidiah's been dead for a long time, and he can't do anything to control him anymore.

Tony's in charge of his own life now, and that means everything.

"I went through shit with medication too, but I did it in a private ward." He finishes his drink, looking Clint in the eye and making sure he knows he's being honest and not patronising him. "You've had to do everything in public, and that sucks."

"Yeah, but I've got Phil, you didn't have anyone." Clint lets the sympathy rest on his face for a moment before he scrubs it away. He knows how bad it feels to have someone pity you, and that's not what this is. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Eh, I survived." Tony shrugs it off, pouring himself another drink. He doesn't feel the need to empty the bottle, so he's good. He tops up Clint's glass too. "So will you. We're both gonna be fine."

"You really are the wise old sage of crazy." Clint raises his glass and they clink them together like comrades. He supposes they are, in a way. "I'm gonna make you a t-shirt."

"Only if there's glitter. I insist on glitter."

*

"Hey. Woah." Phil laughs, because he's suddenly got his arms full of Clint, clinging to him like he's the last lifeboat on the Titanic. "You okay?"

"Missed you." The words are muffled by Phil's shoulder, but he hears them anyway. He hugs Clint back, dropping his bag and not caring if anything breaks. They're in their own apartment, the door's shut, and he doesn't have to be professional right now.

"I missed you too."

They pull apart, and Clint kisses him like he's oxygen. Phil's not complaining, it's been a long few weeks for him too, but something feels off. He gently detaches himself and looks Clint over, searching for any new cuts or bruises, or any sign that something's gone wrong. Clint lets him, because sometimes it's nice when the right person cares. Sometimes it's nice that there's the right person around to care. When Phil comes up with nothing, he looks at the archer curiously.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." He's a little teary, which is embarrassing, but there's only Phil to see so he just grins and doesn't worry about it. "I just realised how lucky I am to have you, y'know?"

"I don't think I'm the one who's getting soft in my old age." But Phil's heart leaps a little, like it always does when Clint's being sweet, and he kisses him again. "Want your present?"

"Of course." He grabs Phil's bag for him, skittering away back into the apartment like an overexcited puppy. Phil laughs: same old Clint.

It's been a long time since he's seen Clint acting like the Clint he knows and loves. And God does he love him, more than he ever thought he could.

"By the way, I have to make Stark a t-shirt. Do we have any glitter?"

"Do I even want to know?"

"Nah." Clint's got his secret little smile going on, but Phil doesn't ask.

He doesn't need to know anything apart from the fact that Clint's sitting in front of him, smiling and in one piece. For Phil, that's all that matters.


End file.
